Musings 48--Surviving Dad's Day

Ruth and I had to work on Sunday--Father's Day. At 9:00 p.m., I said "let's take a break and drive out to my father's house and give him his father's day gift." She said, "OK," and off we went.

When we walked through the door I said, "Happy father's day," and this is where things take the nasty turn. Dad's reply to me was, "I ran over you're dog. I'm really sorry about that."

Ruth and I were kind of stunned. "Is he dead," I asked. "I didn't mean to do it. I guess he just ran in front of the car. I didn't see him."

"Jezzz," I said, "how many does that make now. Three?" Dad has a history of running over my dogs. It is never intentional, but they are dead just the same.

To be fair, what really ticked me off was the fact that this dog--puppy really--had only been with us about two weeks. However, it was long enough for me to have spent $300 for shots and worming and all that stuff one does for pets they intend to have around for many years.

The list of canines that my family members have run over is staggering. It starts years ago when I was a kid. Mother ran over my little dalmatian puppy, which was deaf, and smashed him. I cried. Dad turned my dog King loose one snowy day and he got run over by a car. Tootie Bug, my childhood dog got run over by a dumptruck. I still remember crying on the sofa. I was five at the time. Mother ran over Ruth's dog, Lady--we cried. Dad cut the legs off Mike's dalmatian puppy with the sickle bar of his tractor mower. We cried. Dad ran over Bart, our current dalmatian, and broke his back. He lived and is still alive today. He is the bionic dog. Lucky--the first Lucky--was run over by a truck that dad was in, so I guess that one might not have been his fault, but he was there. Ruth and I cried. Blue, our liver spotted dalmatian was hit by a neighbor and killed in front of Dad's house. I'm counting that one because of proximity. We cried yet again.

That's the history lesson. So it took me awhile to slip into my normal forgiving mode. But I did. I shifted into my, "I know you didn't do it on purpose mode," which set the tone for the rest of the evening. Sometimes sadness is only a right turn from happy street. On Father's Day we made the turn.

Now I love my dad and mother. However, if you are a dog and you are owned by Ruth and I, then you better run like hell when you see that big black car approaching. To quote Randy Travis, "It is just a matter of time."

Oh, yeah, by the way the pup's name was "Lucky Too." How is that for irony?